


look at us (we're glowing)

by glowinghorizons



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-03
Updated: 2015-04-03
Packaged: 2018-03-21 02:18:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3673833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glowinghorizons/pseuds/glowinghorizons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It all happens so fast: He’s standing in line, waiting to order a much-needed coffee at this little cafe down the street from his office, when the next thing he knows, he’s stumbling backwards (into an elderly woman, to add embarrassment to the mix) after being thoroughly punched in the face."</p>
<p>AKA: the "you punched me in the face while gesticulating wildly to a friend” AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	look at us (we're glowing)

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back and I can't stop writing AU's! This one was from a list of prompts I found on Tumblr.
> 
> I don't own The 100, any of the characters, or any similarities between this story and the show. I also don't own the lyrics that I used for the title, which are from the song "Little Lights" by Punch Brothers.

It all happens so fast: He’s standing in line, waiting to order a much-needed coffee at this little cafe down the street from his office, when the next thing he knows, he’s stumbling backwards (into an elderly woman, to add embarrassment to the mix) after being thoroughly punched in the face. _  
_

“What the  _hell_ ,” he hisses, clutching at his cheek, eyes squeezing shut at the pain blooming near his orbital. “ _Jesus_ \--”

“Oh my god!” A voice, distinctly female voice, cuts in. “I’m  _so..._ I didn’t mean to--”

“I know I have a tendency to offend people, but there is no way I could have done that in the five minutes I’ve been here,” Bellamy says sarcastically, one hand still on his cheek, eyes zeroing in on a blonde woman standing in front of him, looking horrified. 

“No! No, you didn’t, I’m so sorry!”

“She didn’t mean it, Clarke just gets so  _animated_  when she talks,” a brunette girl next to the blonde one (Clarke, he supposes) says, looking more amused than anything else.

“Let me help you, I--”

“It’s fine,” Bellamy says gruffly, pulling away from her outstretched hand. “I really just need coffee and to get the hell out of here.”

Walking up to the counter and ignoring the barista’s muffled laughter ( _kids,_  he thinks) he orders a black coffee and practically throws money at the register in his haste to get out of there, away from the crazy woman with the solid left hook and the concerned blue eyes.

////////

A week later, Bellamy is back at the same coffee shop. He’s sitting alone at a table, staring at his coffee absently when he notices the chair next to him move and suddenly she’s there, the same blonde who gave him a black eye that he’s still sporting, although it has faded since.

“I really gave you a shiner, didn’t I?” She asks curiously, and he narrows his eyes.

“Can I help you? Or would you rather just punch me immediately and get it over with?”

She winces, “Sorry. I just... I recognized you and wanted to double check that I didn’t break anything.” She flushes when she’s done speaking, and stares into her mug, just the way he was doing before she invited herself to sit down.

He feels guilty, partly because he can tell she’s embarrassed for what happened, and because he knows he’s being extra grumpy today, and that’s not her fault. They don’t even know each other.

“It’s Clarke, right?” He asks, and ignores her look of surprise as she meets his eyes, holding out his hand instead for her to shake. “Bellamy Blake.”

She takes it after a second, a small smile on her face. “Hi. Clarke Griffin.”

He’s struck for a second by how pretty she is -- not that he didn’t notice it almost straight away, he’s not an  _idiot --_ and finds himself smiling at her, his lips tilted up a fraction. “Do you always punch people while talking, or did I hit the lottery?” He’s _flirting_ with her now, _god_ , _who even does that_ , but he’s still pleased when she laughs instead of looking angry.

“I’ve been told I can be pretty animated when I talk,” she says, shrugging. “Can’t say I’ve ever punched a stranger though.” Her brow furrows, “At least not one that didn’t deserve it,” she adds, and a laugh escapes him. 

This girl is something else. They talk for quite a while, about everything and anything. They argue about politics (her mother is a politician and she wants nothing to do with that life even though he can tell that she has a natural ability to take charge, so he just smirks at her, earning him a slap on his arm) and talk about history and she tells him about the art gallery she works in where she’s a curator of sorts, and he appreciates the way her eyes light up when she talks about something she’s clearly so passionate about. 

He tells her about his boring office job that’s just paying the bills until he can find something more suited to his history degree. He finds himself telling her about his sister, and how he’s been stressed out lately because Octavia has announced that she’s getting married and he  _might_  have a tendency to be overprotective. 

“She’s all you have. It’s natural to feel that way,” Clarke insists, “but I bet it would really make her happy to have your blessing.” She takes a demure sip of her coffee, ignoring Bellamy’s glare from across the table. 

“I should go,” he says after a minute, suddenly feeling his fight or flight kicking in, wanting to get far away from this girl who can see far more of him than he usually lets show, and who has already proven is just as tough, if not tougher than he is. She is too much at once, and he gathers his things quickly, ignoring her wounded look as he leaves her sitting at his table.

////// 

Two days later, he has brunch with Octavia.

“Bell!” She greets him, as enthusiastic as ever, “Wow, that’s quite the black eye you’ve got there.”

“You should see the other guy,” he retorts, but moves in to hug her quickly. It’s hard for him to accept that he’s not the number one guy in her life anymore, but he knows somewhere deep down that what Clarke said to him is true. Octavia is happy with Lincoln, and she deserves it, she really does.

After his father bailed on him when he was a kid and his Mom died when Octavia was in high school, Octavia went through a rebellious phase. It was all he could do to make sure she was going to school and doing her work and generally being a productive member of society while at the same time trying to get his degree. Lord knows she needed some structure in her life, and for what it’s worth, she seems to have found it with Lincoln.

“So are you really not going to tell me what happened?” She asks around a mouthful of French toast, gesturing to his face.

“It’s nothing. An accident,” he says, digging into his own breakfast. It’s not even that he doesn’t want to admit getting hit by a girl, or some other cliché, but it’s that he still can’t wrap his brain around the way he felt when he ran into Clarke a few days prior – that somehow she _knew_ him – and he knows if Octavia hears the whole story, she’ll go on and on and start waxing romantic about it, and he really doesn’t think he can manage to sit through it.

“Whatever. Weirdo.” She surprisingly drops the subject, and they talk a little bit about school, about Bellamy trying to find a decent job, and about Octavia’s friends, who Bellamy’s known for a few years. His sister is an excellent judge of character, he’s learned, and he’s glad that she has people who are close to her now, who can keep an eye on her and who can help her through her problems when he can’t be there for her himself.

They broach the topic of the engagement. He absolutely doesn’t want to talk about it, but his baby sister’s eyes are so wide and pleading that he can’t help but cave. He hates admitting it, but in the end it turns out that Clarke is right, and his sister is the happiest he’s ever seen her when he tells her that he wishes her and Lincoln nothing but the best. 

“Bell, you don’t know what this means to me,” she says, her voice cracking in his ear as she hugs him tight. 

He fights off the feeling in his gut that tells him if it weren’t for a complete stranger in a coffee shop, he never would have had this conversation with his sister, the person who means more to him than anything else in the world.

/////

He doesn’t see Clarke again until two weeks later. It turns out that she spends quite a bit of time at this particular café studying – she’s pre-med, she informs him with a roll of her eyes, as if he was supposed to know this tidbit about her – and he finds himself begrudgingly thanking her for her advice in regards to his sister.

“I should thank you,” he says, practically through gritted teeth, because there’s something about Clarke that does not allow him to be outright rude to her, even when he feels the situation calls for it. On any other occasion, with any other person, he would not be acting this way, especially not with his pride on the line. “I talked to Octavia. You were right.”

She shrugs, “It was nothing.” She’s right, after all. It was _nothing_. It took practically no effort for a complete stranger to see inside his head and offer him advice. It unsettles him, but he doesn’t say anything, just sits across from her like it’s all so _normal_ and watches as she scribbles notes down onto a weathered notebook.

After a few minutes, he pulls out his laptop and begins scouring websites looking for any type of job that might interest him, and the two settle into somewhat of a rhythm. The silence between them is palpable, but not awkward.

“Clarke?” A voice breaks him out of his job-search-induced haze, and he watches as the girl across from him quite literally tenses as she raises her eyes to see someone standing over Bellamy’s shoulder. Bellamy doesn’t turn around; not yet, far too interested in the way her eyes narrow just barely as she takes in the person who’s interrupted her studying. “I thought I recognized you—“ the voice says, coming to stand in front of the table, voice breaking off when he sees Bellamy, “—oh. Sorry, I didn’t see you,” the man says, and Bellamy can’t contain his snort. At over six feet tall, especially sitting across from Clarke, he knows he isn’t easy to miss.

“Finn Collins,” the man says after a minute, holding his hand out to Bellamy.

Bellamy glances at Clarke with a raised eyebrow before awkwardly taking Finn’s hand. “Bellamy Blake.”

“Are you—“

“What are you doing here, Finn?” Clarke cuts off the question Bellamy _knows_ Finn is dying to ask, and he can’t help but be intrigued.

“Just getting coffee, and I saw you, so—“

“You don’t live anywhere near here anymore, but you’re telling me you came here to _get a cup of coffee?_ ” Clarke’s voice is icy, her face hard, and Bellamy has a hard time distinguishing this Clarke from the one who literally punched him in the face in her excitement the first time they met.

“Clarke, maybe we should talk in private?” Finn asks pleadingly.

“No thanks.”

“Clarke—“

“I’m trying to study.”

“I know, but—“

“Look, man,” Bellamy starts, standing up, his protective instinct kicking in, “she’s been working for a few hours here so maybe you should go.”

“Sorry, who are you again?”

Bellamy laughs at the dismissal, his mouth twisting into a smirk. “I’m not going to argue with you, if that’s what you’re after,” he tells the other man, “I’ve got stuff to do and so does she, so feel free to stand there all day. Whatever makes you happy, pal.” He says, with a slap on the other man’s shoulder, and then Bellamy takes his seat across from Clarke, turning his attention back to his laptop.

He feels Clarke’s gaze on him but she seems to get the idea and he sees her go back to scratching down notes in her notebook, the sound of her pen flying across the page bringing everything back to normal. Finn seems to get the picture after a few moments, huffing under his breath and storming away, the door to the café slamming in his wake.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Bellamy asks her after a few more minutes, but all she does is shake her head, not meeting his eyes.

She goes back to taking notes, and Bellamy goes back to his laptop, and they spend the better part of the next hour in silence, and while it’s a little uncomfortable, it’s not unbearable. Bellamy knows what it’s like to have someone prying into his past, and he doesn’t want to do the same thing to Clarke, not when they still barely know each other.

“He’s my ex,” Clarke says quietly after a few minutes.

“I figured,” Bellamy says, watching her carefully. “Seems like a real winner,” he can’t resist adding, chuckling when she glares at him across the table.

“He cheated on me.”

Bellamy freezes, smile falling off his face, looking at Clarke as she seems to be struggling with deciding if she wants to tell him more, or stop talking altogether. “He’s an idiot,” Bellamy says after a few beats, holding Clarke’s gaze as she finally meets his eyes. They maintain eye contact for a few moments, and Bellamy feels something build up in his chest as he looks at Clarke, cataloguing the delicate features of her face, and the birthmark over her top lip that has been thoroughly distracting him since they met. She seems to be doing the same thing to him – her gaze roving over his face slowly before her eyes meet his again, and he hopes he isn’t imagining that her eyes seem a shade darker.

“I should get going,” Clarke says suddenly, and Bellamy tears his gaze off of her face as she begins to gather her belongings. He feels disappointment settle into his gut and he wants to say something, _anything_ to get her to change her mind and stay just a few minutes more, but he knows she’s doing the same thing he always does – she’s trying to protect herself, and he won’t fault her for that, or push her boundaries.

“Bye, Clarke.”

She turns to face him for a split-second before she walks out the door, and he can’t help but smile at her, even a small smile that he knows doesn’t reach his eyes. She returns it with a small smile of her own, however, and the sight of that smile stays with him for days.

///////

Bellamy and Clarke continue to meet like this for the next few weeks. She studies and writes papers, and he does some extra work for his job (“if I can’t get a new job, I could at least try to get a raise,” he tells her). They decidedly _don’t_ talk about what happened between them weeks earlier, and Bellamy absolutely _does not_ think about what it would be like to sit on the same side of the table as Clarke, reaching up to tuck a lock of her hair behind her ear, and he _definitely does not_ think about leaning in to press his mouth against hers, hearing the soft sigh that she would make in his ear.

He is absolutely not thinking about that, because it would make it _impossible_ for him to sit here across from her, and if he’s honest, he’s pretty content doing this too. He likes hearing her talk about her classes, and he likes to watch her make little doodles in the margin of her notebook when she thinks he isn’t looking. He just likes _her_ , and over the course of the last few weeks, he’s admitted to himself that he probably likes her more than what’s healthy, because he seriously thinks that Clarke Griffin is a detriment to his health – first the punch to his face, and now the metaphorical punch to his gut that he feels every time she smiles at him. _God, listen to yourself_ , he thinks, _you’re pathetic_.

“Bellamy? Are you listening to me?”

He snaps back to attention, smirking at Clarke, who he thinks has been talking for the last few minutes while he was stuck in his own head. “You sound like a housewife.”

“How dare you.” She says, turning up her nose at him haughtily, “I’ll have you know I am much more than a common housewife.”

“Oh, you don’t have to convince me of that, Griffin.”

“As I was _saying_ …” she says, narrowing her eyes at him, “My mom called me the other night and she kept asking me if I was going to move back home for the summer once the semester ends.”

Bellamy feels the smile drop right off his face. He knew the semester was ending soon, but he didn’t think of the possibility that Clarke doesn’t live in the city full time, that she would have somewhere else to go for three months. Without him. He clears his throat, “Are you going to go?”

“I… I think so.” She says, and she looks just as flustered as he feels. “I just… we haven’t been on good terms lately, and she sounded so desperate on the phone… I think I need to make amends with her.”

Bellamy nods, swallowing thickly. “That’s… that’s good. That’s really good, Clarke.”

“Bellamy—“

“No, really, Clarke. It’ll be good for you. You and your mom.” He ignores the tightening of his throat when he thinks about not seeing her for more than three months while she goes home for the summer.

“We can still meet for coffee, it’s not that far—“

“It’s nine hours, Clarke.”

“Bell, I’m sorry.” She says softly, and he feels the way she says the nickname reverberate all the way through his body. No one ever calls him that besides his sister. If that isn’t a sure sign that Clarke has become more important to him than he ever thought possible, he doesn’t know what is.

“Let me know if you need help packing.”

“Bellamy—“

“I need to get home. Got some errands to run.” He tells her, barely looking at her, and when he walks out the door, it takes considerable effort not to look back and see if she looks as broken up as he feels.

/////////

Clarke and Bellamy don’t see each other in the two weeks before she leaves to go home to spend the summer with her mother, and Bellamy tries to ignore the tightness in his chest every time he pointedly ignores the café where they first met.

She doesn’t call him to help her pack up her stuff, and he doesn’t call to offer.

She doesn’t call him to say goodbye.

/////////

A month passes slowly before Bellamy sees Octavia again. They meet for brunch at their usual spot, and she notices right away how tired Bellamy looks.

“I’ve been picking up extra shifts, that’s all.” He tells her, but she gives him a look that says she clearly isn’t buying it.

“You haven’t mentioned Clarke lately,” she says, giving him a look, and he rolls his eyes.

“Not much to mention.”

“ _Ah_ ,” Octavia says knowingly, and Bellamy puts down his fork, crossing his arms in frustration.

“What, O?”

“What?” She asks innocently.

“That. That ‘ _ah_ ’. You sound like you have something to say.”

“All I know is that you’ve been super grumpy since she went back to stay with her mom. That’s got to mean something, right?”

“You’re reading too much into it.”

“And you’re being an idiot! You’re miserable, Bell. You should go visit her.”

“No.”

“Bellamy.”

“Octavia.”

They stare at each other for a few seconds, neither one of them wanting to back down, before Bellamy finally gives in under the weight of his sister’s stare. “I don’t even know where she is!”

“Her mom is a politician, Bell. We can find out.”

“I don’t know if this is a good idea.”

“Do you like her?” Octavia asks, her eyes wide and imploring, and he can’t lie to her. He never could, and he guesses that he never will be able to.

He nods in the affirmative, and she grins.

////////

It’s dark when Bellamy arrives at Clarke’s house, and he stands outside the large house for ten minutes before finally getting up the courage to knock on the door. He’s nervous, more nervous than he can ever remember being in his life, because he’s about to do this, _really_ do this. It’s like a damn romantic comedy, and he would laugh if his insides weren’t all twisted up in knots.

He paces on the front porch until the light flicks off, and then he knows it’s now or never. He raises his fist to knock on the door when all of a sudden he feels a fist hit him in the side, making him stumble to the ground.

“What the _fu_ —“

“Bellamy?!”

“Long time no see, princess.”

//////////

Bellamy sits in Clarke’s kitchen as she flutters around him, handing him a bag of ice. He places it against the skin of his cheek, and he takes it all in, all of it, the sight of her in her pajamas, the pictures of her as a little girl that line nearly every wall in the house. He smiles softly at her, he can’t help it, and tries not to laugh as she worries over him.

“I can’t believe you punched me _again_.”

“ I thought you were a burglar!” She insists, and he can’t help it this time, he laughs, a full-bodied laugh that causes her to laugh in return, and when she presses the homemade ice pack to his cheek a second time, he holds onto her wrist, keeping her in place.

Their laughter dies down, and Bellamy sees her look at him, like she’s _really_ looking at him, and he decides to just go for it. _Now or never._ “I missed you,” he tells her, “I missed you and I’m an idiot and I should have just asked to visit you in the first place.”

She looks shocked for a second, before the biggest smile he’s ever seen grows on her face. “I missed you too, Bellamy.” She tells him, and the two of them sit there, smiling at each other like idiots, before Bellamy throws caution to the wind and tugs on her wrist, pulling her closer.

Their lips meet and it’s _everything_. It’s more than he ever allowed himself to imagine when she kisses him back, and he gets lost in her before someone clearing their throat makes them both jump apart.

They break apart slowly, both of them blushing with sheepish looks on their face, and Clarke gestures towards the woman in the doorway. “Um, Bellamy… this is my mother, Abby Griffin. Mom, this is Bellamy.”

“Hi,” Bellamy says, his arm still around Clarke’s waist, feeling his cheeks turn even more red as Clarke’s mother looks at him appraisingly.

“She punched you again?”

“I was sort of asking for it, this time, ma’am.” He tells her, and then Clarke dissolves into a fit of laughter, the sound of it music to his ears.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Clarke whispers, and Bellamy smiles at her, assuring her that the feeling is absolutely mutual. He doesn’t know how Clarke Griffin managed to sneak up on him and worm her way past the defenses he keeps around his heart, but she did, and he hopes that he’s got a little bit of a spot in her heart, too.

**Author's Note:**

> Reblog/like this fic on [Tumblr](http://dreamingundone.tumblr.com), and follow me!


End file.
